Page 74 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

How could I be this consumed by him and belong to anyone else?

“This is fun.” He tilts his head back slightly and I get an even better angle of his boyish grin. I’m desperate to get a peek inside his brain. What could possibly be making him smile like that?

“And that surprises you?” I push myself closer until our bodies are entwined.

He presses his lips closed and inhales. The music lowers so Darren can make an announcement, and Adam’s knees knock mine as he turns back toward the table, like our physical closeness was merely a matter of bar acoustics. Just when I’m getting used to the loss of his accidental touch and the subsequent drop in temperature, he shakes his head and takes a slow sip of his beer. I track the movement like a creep.

That mouth kissed me, I think. Twice.

He catches me staring, and I don’t even have the good sense to be embarrassed. My eyes must look wild, because his expression is thrown by them.

“You can’t look at me like that, Ali.” His pleading tone is confirmation he’s feeling this same torturous pull.

“Like what?” I tease, my voice low, leaning so close I have to crane my neck back to look at him.

I consider a retreat until his hand grabs my thigh.

19

Lewis Hamilton at the Sink, with a Hand Towel

Thwap!

Mara slams our score sheet on the table. The sound breaks the spell we’re under, and our bodies snap forward. Her finger pounds into the tabletop. “Risky Fuckness has a perfect score!”

“Oh look, Mar. We only missed two questions. That’s not so bad,” I say, my voice drenched with the disappointment of Adam releasing my leg.

Mara fusses with her necklace. “You think Evil Incarnate cares we only missed two?”

Adam’s hand drifts to the back of my chair like the sharp November breeze. “Wow. You really hate those guys.”

“She’s pretty competitive,” I respond, still catching my breath.

“I’m in love!” Chelsea announces, bouncing into her seat. “There’s a guy at the sink who looks exactly like Lewis Hamilton. It’s uncanny. He’s my future husband.”

Adam grabs his drink. “Do you follow Formula 1?”

Chelsea shakes her head. “The Netflix show.”

Mara plops into her chair “It’s a docuseries that follows the sport, but it’s a year behind. If you know what’s happening in real time, don’t spoil it for her.”

Chelsea cranes her head toward the bathroom in search of her racing lookalike. “I’m very invested in the future of Mercedes racing—except last year. Do you think that guy’s British?”

“He didn’t speak?” I ask.

“He offered me a paper towel, but I wasn’t listening until I looked at him.”

“I’m getting a beer. Do you want anything, Ali?” Adam touches my back when he asks.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I look at Mara and Chelsea, exposed by my creeping blush.

Chelsea mouths Ali as Adam walks away.

Mara raises an accusatory brow. “Al, what’s going on with that?”

“I’m sorry, I think you mean Ali.” Chelsea’s in a full-on giggle fit.

I sip my beer for cover. “You’re the one who invited him.”

---